


Pride Is Not the Word I'm Looking For

by raven_aorla



Series: Don't Be Shocked When Your Hist'ry Book Mentions Me [8]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Real Person Fiction, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, gentle mockery of James Madison, parental grief, spousal guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His son's date of birth has been a matter of public record for more than two centuries. Hamilton does not want anyone to mention it today.</p><p>(But there are other, less direct ways to offer a bit of cheer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride Is Not the Word I'm Looking For

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [That's Plenty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684788) by [Gement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement/pseuds/Gement). 



> Gement beta-ed thoroughly and made many marvelous additions. Thank you, hollimichele, for your additional comments and encouragement.
> 
> The tradition described in the fic is a real one.

_January 22, 2016_

Alexander was grateful that no one had commented on his unusually quiet manner all day, nor mentioned that this was Philip's birthday, the day he had first become a father. After the recent frenzied attention at his own birthday, he had been braced for the possibility of a blizzard of well-intentioned reminders. His own heart provided enough of those.

He'd grieved for his mother as a boy, and thrown himself into a frenzy of effort and achievement to ease the pain of Laurens' loss, but thoughts of Philip held a new sting now. Alexander had put Eliza through the same sorrow their son's duel had caused them. The same foolish pride, the same senselessness, and no way to make amends to her. Other than to continue working.

Snow accumulated softly outside. The university had remained open, but Chernow used the weather as pretext to send Alexander home early, wishing him well with what seemed like unusual depth of feeling. Perhaps he knew the date. Perhaps Alexander was just seeing ghosts in every shadow of expression.

Crane and Miss Mills were out combating some form of mystical evil, as was their wont, and Crane had texted him that they would find shelter elsewhere; he needn't fret if they didn't return tonight or even tomorrow. Miss Mills had the time and concentration to text him a reminder to eat something only a few minutes before, so any peril they might have encountered couldn't be overly dire. 

Alexander dutifully heated the remains of a roast and some vegetables, put the food in his mouth, then put the plate and cutlery in the mechanical washer. Food held little savor for him today, but it would be ungracious to reject his concerned host's hospitality.

The clock had slipped to a quarter past nine. Alexander was composing by a combination of a single desk lamp and the soft glow of the borrowed laptop screen, the use of which he alternated with fountain pen and paper. He found bright light a trifle disquieting after dusk, all humanity railing at the natural course of the sun. He was also given to understand that the use of electricity was billed by both quantity and duration, and there was no point in excessive expenditure.

While his typing speed had increased considerably since he was first introduced to the haphazard and possibly malicious arrangement of letters on key boards, he found it easier to organize his thoughts in handwriting first. His thoughts flowed from the physical document to the "my document" as each new paragraph formed.

His nightly blog essay was taking shape nicely. The necessity of essential public infrastructure, as brought to light by the Flint case, gave him a chance to rail directly against Burr's corrupt Manhattan Water Company, which would give great satisfaction to his readers. Much as he wished he could say his reading public cared about political policy, their attention did tend to hang upon the gossip regarding men long dead.

A chiming sound and the appearance of a small box in the corner of the laptop screen indicated a new electronic letter. It was from Miss Jessica. He steeled himself for questions or expressions of condolence. Instead, he found the brief preamble: "These are pictures taken from James Madison University in Virginia. It's a student tradition on special occasions. Or just for pranks. Thought you might get a laugh out of it."

All the photographs were of a statue of James Madison, by necessity on a pedestal since the man had been even smaller of stature than Alexander himself — "no bigger than a half piece of soap", as the quip ran. He'd enjoyed learning that a tradition of fanfare upon the President's entrance at an official function began so that anyone at all would notice Madison's presence. 

In only one of the photographs did the statue remain unadorned. The others involved a series of absurd and undignified costumery: eyepatches, baseball caps, brightly colored capes, oversized and bizarre spectacles, scarves, wigs in all the colors of the rainbow and some not found in nature, monstrous masks, aprons, robes, the occasional gown, toilet paper tresses, helmets...

Alexander felt warm approval for the spirited youths involved. He replied at once with his thanks. 

Perhaps he could take a brief break from his work to determine if either the College of William and Mary or the University of Virginia had similar traditions. Jefferson's face would only be improved by the addition of, say, a false nose.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I Think Your Hat Looks Hot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824291) by [rea_p](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_p/pseuds/rea_p)




End file.
